The Crime Boss' Obsession

Bruce froze at the sight of the room. It was in such disarray. The television screen was smashed in by a baseball bat, clothes were strewn all over the floor, the sofa was overturned, the glass centre table was broken and the kitchen door was kicked in.

Eighteen year old Franklin stood beside him, his eyes also filled with horror.

A whistle sounded behind them, causing them to jump and turn back. A man stood at the door to the kitchen, tossing a silver coin. He had a terrible scar on his cheek which he got during a street fight.

He whistled again and two other men wearing white tank tops and baggy denim pants strolled out of the inner room.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked shakily.

"Big Cat's money," the man with the scarred face spoke coldly.

"I'll get it soon," Bruce mumbled.

The man shook his head and advanced towards Bruce, a wicked smile on his lips.

"Get away from us," Franklin said and stepped in Scarface's way.

Scarface exchanged amused glances with his accomplices and they laughed derisively.

Flat-nose sniggered and shoved Franklin. He landed on his buttocks.

"Big Cat wants his money and he demands it today," Scarface told Bruce.

"I-I don't have it," Bruce stuttered. "Please, tell Big Cat to give me more time."

"That's bad," Scarface said and drove a quick punch in Bruce's stomach. He yelped and grabbed his stinging abdomen, his face contorted in a wince. Then they pulled him out of the house and brought him to his knees.

Scarface brought out a pistol and put it towards Bruce's head.

Frankie had just gotten out of the office where she worked as a cashier when she got a call from Franklin. He didn't tell what it was but he sounded very urgent so she took a bus destined for Manhattan as quick as possible.

"What happened?" she asked a distraught Franklin when she rushed in.

"They put a gun to his ear and fired," he cried.

"Who?" Frankie inquired.

"Some guys. They just came in and beat us up," Franklin replied.

Frankie went closer to him and asked him softly how he was.

"I can't hear shit," he said.

He was still recovering from the shock of the attack and the noise of the gun so he didn't hear her clearly. He took his hands off his ears and faced her questioningly.

"What?" he said in a loud voice, almost a shout. "What did you say?"

She edged closer to his ear and said with an amplified voice, "I said, how are you?"

He didn't reply. He only looked blankly at her.

"What did they come for? What did you do to warrant some thugs coming here to beat you up? You know you can be so problematic."

"Don't talk to your dad like that," Franklin said.

"Don't talk to me like that," Bruce sulked.

Frankie groaned and shook her head.

He stood up with a low painful grunt.

"Where are you going now?" she demanded.

He didn't answer. Instead he walked to the damaged fridge and took out a bottle of beer. He uncorked it with his teeth and took big gulps.

Frankie groaned inwardly. Only five minutes and he was already getting on her nerves. Everything appeared fine but she decided to stay the night even though she had pledged never to do so again.

It seemed fine at the moment but her problems were just starting.

.............

The next day, they came early in the morning. It had just passed six a.m.

Frankie was in the corner of what used to be the room she shared with her brother. She had left home at the slightest opportunity she found after the demise of her mother and gone to college in New York.

The goons came in shiny black trucks and an SUV. They held batons and bats. Scarface, their leader also had a Glock sagging in his pants.

They gained their entry by kicking down the flimsy door.

"Hey, Bruce," Scarface said as he entered.

"I see you've got you a beautiful chick," the one with the tattooed face said, flickering a lustful glance in Frankie's direction. "Where were you hiding the last time sweety?"

"What do you want here?" she demanded with a bravery she didn't see coming.

"Hope you have the money," Scarface asked Bruce, ignoring Frankie.

Bruce shook his head

He dragged his hand and pulled them to the table. He gripped his fingers tightly and pressed them down on the table. The man with the face tattoo took a knife out of the rack and passed it to Flat-nose. Flat-nose grinned as he turned the blade expertly in his hand.

"We're taking something from you, Bruce. And there's nothing you can do about it," Scarface said.

With a single effort from Flat-nose, Bruce's little finger was on the table and the stump spurted blood. He shrieked in horror and looked wide-eyed at his amputated finger. He clutched it tightly as the blood flowed.

"Tomorrow, we'll be here for your thumb," Scarface said and walked out. The other two urchins followed after him.

Frankie looked.

"I'll get the police,"

"No police! No police!" he cried.

He didn't allow her to get an ambulance too and smashed her phone to the floor when she tried. He grinded the screen with his feet.

The next morning, before even Frankie woke, he was gone. The table groaned under the wright of a dozen empty bottles of lager and cheap vodka.

She didn't take his disappearance with all seriousness, thinking it was just him being the classic Bruce who loitered the city when he was drunk. She expected him to be back. But when after she cleaned the house, took her bath and prepared dinner and he still was not back, she began to panic. They looked around for him for an hour before she decided to report at the police station.

It was while there that a patrolman brought in news. Someone was found in the river, his little finger freshly chopped off.

She went quickly with the police to the morgue and easily identified him. He was bloated and his red hair was still wet. She dropped on her knees slowly and, it was even surprising to her, she cried over his body.

She organised an unpublicized burial. Just her, her brother, and a few friends who came to pay their last respects before he was burnt in the furnace.

While she gave her speech, the three urchins from the other day strolled in and took their seat at the last row. Frankie gaped when she saw them. They wore suits this time around and didn't carry bats or any weapons. And another man with dark hair was with them, donned in a crisp tuxedo and perfectly crafted brogues.

She wondered what they wanted here and prayed silently that they wouldn't cause any trouble.

Like God heard her prayers, the men didn't make any trouble throughout the solemn gathering.

She waited behind with her brother to get the urn filled with her father's powdered remains.

Her heart skipped a beat as the men suddenly stood up together as if on cue and made their way towards her, taking brisk steps, the soles of their shoes clicking on the floor.

She summed up courage and folded her arms and shot them a glare that could freeze fire.

They stopped few metres away from her.

"What do you want?" she demanded sourly.

The man in the tuxedo was the one who spoke. "I'm Doug," he said, ignoring her query and extended his hand for an handshake. A smile was playing on his lips.

She continued to glower at them.

"We heard your father died," the man said with a false contriteness and smiled. "He was such a good man," he added and the other three with him guffawed.

"It's funny? This is a joke to you?" Frankie said vindictively. "You made him do this. You beasts made him kill himself!" she shrieked.

"Don't waste your energy on me," the man said coolly. "You'll need most of it repaying your father's loan."

Frankie looked at him incredulously and scowled.

"After killing him, you'll still collect money?" she echoed.

"Well, that's why we're here. If you can't pay it, the big boss has an offer for you," Doug said. "If you'll come and work in his club over at Las Vegas, he'll cancel your debt."

"Tell your boss to go fuck himself," Frankie said without thinking.

The man smiled. She obviously didn't know who she was dealing with.

The representative of the Sicilian Mafia here in America. He controlled almost every crime in the area from New York to. Almost half of North America.

"Tell your goddamn boss, whoever the idiot is, to go fuck his mama!" she yelled furiously.

"Alright then, be that way," Doug said coolly and turned. "The debt is due in a month."

Then he walked briskly out as he had come in, followed closely by the other three.

She would try to raise the money. There wasn't anyone she could ask for help. Asides her father who had killed himself, the only other person she could refer to as family was her brother.

And, as much as it pained her to admit it, he had little to nothing to offer as help. He had a learning disorder and most often did stupid things. Right now, he was a liability.

She had to find a way to pay the money.